


Clippings

by goodboylupin (somebetterwords)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Athlete Sirius Black, College Football, First Meetings, M/M, Welsh Remus Lupin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-12 12:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19945816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somebetterwords/pseuds/goodboylupin
Summary: Some things hit you when you least expect them.





	1. Down By Contact

**Author's Note:**

> Not gonna lie, I have not written any fic for the past three years, and so I _shoved_ this out because, like, enough is enough.

“I must ask, _again_ , why exactly I have to be the one doing this,” Remus Lupin protested for the third time, even as he let Dorcas Meadowes have at his forehead with a comically puffy brush of setting powder. “I mean, for Christ’s sake, Lily, I’m _Welsh!_ Isn’t American football _America’s_ pastime?”

“You’re too smart to play dumb, Remus. I know you know that’s baseball. And that we just call it football here,” Lily Evans— communications major, sociology minor, senior, and the glue that held The Willow together— nudged Mary aside to clasp both Remus’ shoulders. “Gilderoy Lockhart is an absolute _dickhead_ who left us in the lurch to try out for a chorus spot in fucking West Side Story as if he isn’t a talentless hack with two left feet who only got into the theatre program because he fabricated a great CV.” She stared deeply into his eyes, her own vibrant green practically glowing with passion. “There’s no one else for the job but you. Are you going to be an even bigger dickhead by leaving us in the lurch because you’re afraid of the camera?”

Remus sagged in defeat. “You know I wouldn’t do that to you lot.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Lily said, smiling brilliantly. If Remus swung that way, he’d probably have fallen in love with her within a week of meeting. As it stood, he was very grateful to have stopped at her booth on Clubs Day, to have signed up for the school TV station (“but this is the year we’ll be known first and foremost for our online presence, Remus, and you’ll want to get in on the ground floor of that, _trust me_ ”), to have become her friend. “We’re _your_ lot now.”

* * *

“Y’know,” Mary offered, spinning round and around and around in the chair from which she would be providing the main commentary, “if you think about it, this is actually a really great way to get your toes wet.”

Remus dug his fists into his pockets, then remembered himself and pulled his hands back out before he could put any wrinkles in his trousers. “Because you’re throwing me right in the deep end by having me report on a sport I still do not even remotely understand?”

“Because nobody here cares about college football, _actually_.”

“Excuse me, Miss Macdonald, but I seem to recall your father busting both his TV remote and his living room wall when his alma mater lost their… Iron bowl, was it?”

“See, that’s because my dad’s from Alabama, Mr. Lupin.” Mary finally stopped her spinning to face him properly. “College ball is a major part of daily life in the South. My cousin Cathy had her wedding on the day of an Auburn game and I swear to you, half the banquet hall was empty because the guests were watching the game at the bar. Now, if we were at a school with that kinda culture, I’d say you oughta be shitting your pants.”

“If we were at a school with that kinda culture, we wouldn’t ever be able to cover a game at all,” Lily offered, not even looking up from her ever-present clipboard. “Because we don’t have that kinda money.”

“Oh, for sure!” Mary agreed, nodding eagerly. “But we’re so fucking far from being that kind of school it’s not even funny. See, people round here do not invest themselves in our rinky dink, little football team.”

“Rinky dink?” Remus demanded, hit by a sudden surge of school pride. “There’s gonna be at least a thousand people out there, that’s not to be sneezed at, I don’t think.”

“A Tigers game gets at least _eighty-_ thousand, easy.”

“Eighty-thousand!” Remus blinked, briefly gaped. “That’s like…. That’s a final match at the Millennium. And you mean to tell me they manage that every game?" 

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. When you have a picture in your head of screaming football mania, you’re thinking of Bowl Subdivision teams in the rural South or you’re thinking of the NFL. This is neither. We’re a Division Three school whose women’s soccer team carries the entire athletic program on their backs. We’re small potatoes, Remus, and that’s _great!_ Low stakes! Hardly something to get yourself in a tizzy over, right?”

“Small potatoes,” Remus muttered, trying it out for a mantra.

Out the corner of his eye, Remus noticed Lily _physically_ bite down on the objection she surely wished to voice: that actually this was still a very big get and the whole Willow team should all be worshipping at their college president’s feet forevermore for strong-arming (without anyone realizing that they were being strong-armed, as was Dr. Dumbledore’s style) the Tristate Conference into rejecting any exclusive airing contracts so that school media could have this opportunity.

“Small potatoes,”he repeated, louder this time, rolling his shoulders to relieve the tightening in his muscles brought on by tension.

* * *

Fuck, it should have been Mary down here. It should have been Mary or Lily or Marlene or Dorcas or any of the beautiful, articulate, knowledgable, quick-witted women who were much better suited to being on-air talent. 

But they were trying to be subversive, was the thing. They were trying to be subversive, so Mary would be up in the booth doing the play-by-play announcing— a much more useful application of her expertise, admittedly— along with Professor McGonagall from the Department of Engineering, who apparently played in a professional women’s league for a few years before going for her PhD and was thus eminently qualified to be their colour commentator.

They were being subversive, so instead of having a singular woman on the team who roved up and down the sidelines, talking for twenty seconds every half hour and generally acting as ornament to the main show, they would have a singular man doing the same— Remus being that man.

Fucking _Gilderoy_. Gilderoy was exactly the kind of man who ought to be ornament (and ideally never anything more than). Gilderoy with his perfectly generic, all-American good looks. Gilderoy with his tan, unscarred skin and his golden blondness and his sparkly blue eyes.

It didn’t really work when it was Remus. Remus wasn’t handsome like that. Remus was just skinny and tall-ish and white. And now his fucked up left eyebrow would be on display for the _whole world_ to see.

“Small potatoes,” Remus reassured himself. “Small potatoes, low stakes.”

“I’m hungry too, bud!” his cameraman, Peter Pettigrew called out. “But it’s worth the wait. Just think: a few more hours and then we all up in that bloomin’ onion!”

Remus was saved from responding by Lily’s voice in his ear telling him he’d be on in five.

And so Remus put on his winningest smile, turned to face the camera, held his microphone up to his mouth, and waited for the ladies in the booth to ‘throw it down to Remus’ .

And then he felt something **_slam_** into his legs.

“Nefi wen!” (In later years, despite video evidence to the contrary, Remus would insist that the screech he let out at that moment of impact was actually quite manly, thank you very much.)

In that moment, however, Remus did not hear his own shout, nor the sympathetic groan from onlookers, nor Peter’s quiet squeak of surprise, nor the grunt from the someone— not something— who had crashed into him in the first place. Remus heard nothing but the pulse of his own heartbeat, saw nothing but a blur of purple and green give way to cloudless sky.

And then an angel. 

“Are you all right?” The man kneeling over him was red-faced and heaving for breath, his hair disheveled and completely drenched with sweat, but surely someone so profoundly beautiful _had_ to be an angel.

“Am I dead?” Remus asked, hoping to confirm this stranger’s celestial nature.

The man barked out a laugh, entirely opposite of the harp-song Remus would have expected from an angel but by no means unpleasant. “No, no, you are still gloriously alive, promise.”

Oh, so he wasn’t an angel, just an unfathomably handsome mortal being with a very posh accent. Remus blinked the daze out of his eyes. He came back into awareness, and he decided he had remained lying down on the cold, damp turf for longer than any hit would warrant. “Right,” he murmured, smiling sheepishly. “Always glad to hear that!”

He made to stand, accepting the helping hand Mr. Handsome immediately offered. “Quite sorry for bowling you over like that. I’m Sirius, by the way. My name, I mean. Not that I’m not _also_ serious about being sorry, just that my name is Sirius. I’m Sirius with an ‘I’ like the star, as well as being serious the adjective.”

“It’s all right, Sirius. I’m Remus. Remus Lupin.” He offered the hand Sirius had just released to shake. Sirius enveloped it in both his own and pumped twice; Remus could feel the heat radiating from Sirius’ palms, even through the stretchy fabric of his football gloves.

“Black!” Sirius glanced over Remus’ shoulder, and Remus turned to see the football coach looking absolutely thunderous. “Get your ass over here or I’m popping off this leg and beating you with it!”

“Coming, Coach Moody!” Sirius grinned down at Remus, squeezing his hand before letting go. He stooped down to pick up his helmet and passed Remus the microphone that had fallen forgotten in the tumble. “Good to meet you, Remus Lupin.” 

Remus couldn’t help but beam in response. “And you as well, Sirius Black.”

As Sirius jogged over to his team’s bench, Remus turned back to Peter— only to see the boy gesturing wildly at his own ear, camera still trained on Remus.

Eyes widening in surprise, Remus shoved the earpiece dangling from his neck back in, paying no heed to the blades of grass still stuck to it.

“ _You’re still on. Wrap your segment up, go!_ ” Lily ordered.

“What a way to start your first day, eh, Remus!”

“I’d say so, Mary! It’s never a dull moment here at The Willow, that’s for certain.”

**

The rest of the telecast passed without incident, Remus only went back on camera for another two or so minutes, total. A good deal of that time was spent regurgitating injury reports provided by the teams themselves— those Durmstrang boys played _rough_ — and approaching the game from a human interest side (which, if he was being frank, was more entertaining to him than the sport itself). 

It wasn’t a terrible time.

“But that doesn’t mean I’m doing it again!”

“Yes, it does!” Lily exclaimed, sloshing her margarita in her eagerness to point at him. “You went viral. You’re the face of the channel. You’re locked in, now, Lupin!”

“Yeah!” Mary agreed. “We’re the dream team, now, Remus! You and me and Minnie McG!”

“I was pretty important too,” Peter piped in, breaking off a piece of his well-deserved bloomin’ onion.

“And the real MVP, our own Peter P!” At this, Lily raised a toast. “To Pete! For having both an unshakable shoulder, and unshakable commitment to his job filming the action!”

“Hear, hear!” The table cried out.

“Thank you, thank you!” Peter, fortified by Dutch courage, stood to bow. He then raised his cider bottle. “And to Benjy Fenwick, for your cat-like reflexes killing Remus’ mic _right_ before it hit the ground and then _instantly_ turning it back so we could all listen to him flirt with a hot football player!”

Remus’ objections were drowned out by more cheers and clinks. “We weren’t flirting,” he repeated when the noise died down.

Peter snorted in response. “Even if _you_ weren’t flirting with _him_ , he was tripping over himself trying to flirt with you.” He then started guffawing at his own word choice. “Tripping! Do you see what I did just then?”

“I think it’s about time we lay off the booze for a bit, boyo.” Gently, Remus prised the bottle out of Peter’s hand and moved it out of his reach.

“The drunk is right!” Dorcas banged the copper mug of her drink against the table like a judge with a gavel. “You were both flirting, but that Sirius dude was flirting _hard_.”

Remus exhaled loudly through his nose, feeling the throb of a headache building at the base of his skull. Was he the only one here who knew how to handle his liquor? “He was being kind because he felt guilty for accidentally tackling an innocent bystander. He’s probably straight.”

Emmeline Vance— linguistics and psychology double major, junior, and Willow social media manager— looked up from her phone with an arched eyebrow. “You sure about that?” She asked, turning the phone around to wave the screen at him. “Because he literally just asked you out.”

“What?” Remus reached across the table for the phone, only for Dorcas to snatch it first.

“Oooh,” Dorcas trilled. “He wants to buy you a _drink_.”

“Let me see,” he demanded, even as she passed it along to Mary.

“So _publicly_ too! He’s a bold one, Remus.”

“That’s so great,” Peter said, nodding sagely. “Remus needs that in his life.”

Like clucking hens, they all started in on a discussion of the qualities of Remus’ perfect other half. With a sigh, Remus pulled out his own phone. He’d been bombarded by so many alerts, the thing could barely open Twitter. Luckily, Sirius was right at the top of his notifications.

**Remus Lupin @WolfsonJWolf · 3h**

> Watch me get knocked arse over teakettle sideline reporting for @thewillow at the @HogwartsFB game today! <https://youtu.be/CsHiG-43Fzg> #gogriffs

**Sirius Black @sb_padfoot011 · 27m**

> @WolfsonJWolf Buy you a pint to make up for it?

That was it? That wasn’t even necessarily a date. That was just two mates, out to the local pub.

But it wasn’t necessarily _not_ a date, either.

“He’s probably just making… an overture of friendship,” Remus said, speaking to himself more than anything.

“And would you want to be his friend?” He looked up to see Lily regarding him calmly, green eyes always so shrewd.

They’d only interacted for less than five minutes, but still, Remus knew the answer to that question. 

**Remus Lupin @WolfsonJWolf · 12s**

> @sb_padfoot011 Sounds fun, DM me!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [this Tumblr post](https://goodboylupin.tumblr.com/post/186507698237/if-this-isnt-a-fic-waiting-to-be-written-then-i).


	2. Fumble

Remus stood against the red brick facade of what Sirius described as the most authentic-but-not-seedy pub in town. He tapped his foot on the sidewalk, drummed his fingers against his thigh. He pulled his phone out of his jacket button, clicked the screen on to check the time.

He was early. He was too early, and his jeans were too tight, and he cared too much. This _wasn’t a date_. Exhaling hard to blow the fringe out of his eyes, he swiped aimlessly through Instagram in the hopes of looking busy, not even registering whether he was looking at pictures of beaches or beagles or bagels.

“Well, well, well,” a plummy baritone greeted, and Remus felt a new presence at his side. It was Sirius, leaning one shoulder against the wall and somehow looking even more handsome than the first time they’d met. “If it isn’t Hogsmeade’s favourite new celebrity! No ball cap or sunglasses to obscure your identity?”

Remus rolled his eyes, even as the corner of his mouth twitched up into a smile. “‘Lo to you too, Sirius,” he said, turning to mirror the other man’s posture. “I could ask the same of you, y’know. How many times have people quoted the video at you so far?”

“Only a few… hundred,” Sirius answered. “But to be fair, at least seventy of those were James.” Gesturing to the door, he asked. “Shall we go in now?”

“Yes, let’s.” Remus pulled the door open and waved Sirius through, allowing himself a moment of admiration for the broadness of his leather-clad shoulders as he followed in after. “My friend Peter likes to keep me updated on any new memes.”

“He sounds grand. What kind of beer do you like?” Sirius asked.

“I’ll take whatever you want, as long as you don’t drink that Pabst shite. If you do, then I’m afraid I have another engagement I forgot about until just this second.”

Sirius barked out a laugh and caught the barmaid’s eye, lifting two finger before he coaxed Remus with a hand at the small of his back to a square table with a banquette on one side and a chair on the other. “I wouldn’t feed my worst enemy that watered down piss, don’t worry.”

In the time it took for them to doff their jackets, the barmaid came around to set down in front of them two dimpled glass mugs of perfectly poured beer with just the right amount of froth and a bowl of crisps. She wiped her hands on her apron before setting them on her hips. “Sirius! Will you be joined by your other half tonight?”

Remus tried to keep a placid smile on his face, even as his stomach sank like a stone. _Definitely not a date, then._

“No, I’m afraid James took quite a bad sack at our last game. He’s laid up with a sprained ankle for the weekend, and entertaining as it would be, I would really rather not deal with a drunk James on crutches.”

The two carried on chatting, and Remus felt like the biggest idiot on the planet. He had only prepared himself for two possible outcomes for this outing: Sirius was straight and friendly, or Sirius was gay and interested. But of course Sirius had a boyfriend. Of course someone as unequivocally appealing as Sirius wouldn’t be single. Of course his boyfriend was also his teammate, because wasn’t that just fucking adorable? This James was probably just as fit as Sirius too. Furiously, Remus stamped out those first flickers of hope he’d foolishly allowed himself to feel. Who was he kidding, to think someone as handsome as Sirius would ever be interested in Remus, even if he _were_ single— this wasn’t Llanbedr, the man had options.

“Remus? Are you all right?”

Remus desperately wanted to escape to the bathroom— or even better, out the door and back to his dorm room; he wanted to hide away and lick his wounds, but that felt rather like it would be punishing Sirius for not being interested in him, and that would be deeply unfair. For all that his friends insisted otherwise, Sirius hadn’t actually led him on in any way. Quite the contrary, since he’d brought his boyfriend up in conversation, of his own volition, before they’d even set foot inside this very fine establishment— which he was probably excited to share with someone who had the background to properly appreciate it. Lily had asked Remus if he would be interested in being Sirius’ friend and he had decided that, yes, he would. He had meant it.

And so Remus leaned forward across the table, locked eyes with Sirius, then widened his eyes and formed his mouth into an ‘o,’ a caricature of the face he’d made when Sirius tackled him. “Am I dead?”

Sirius let out a noise of affront and lobbed a balled up paper napkin at Remus’ face, making the latter burst into laughter. “Not you of all people, Remus! Oh, the _betrayal_! I can never ask anyone if they’re all right ever again, for fear of having my kindness and concern flung back in my face. Now my love for my fellow man is going to slowly crumble and blow away like dust in the wind, leaving me but an empty shell of the person I used to be, and it will be all your fault. Will you be able to live with yourself, knowing you turned my soul into a shrivelled husk like that?“

“It would pain me to know what I’d done to your soul.” Remus paused for dramatic effect, taking a long sip of his beer. “But I could take solace in the fact that your body was still gloriously alive, promise.”

“Fucker.” Sirius gave him the two finger salute and swigged from his own mug. “How do you like it, then?”

“Well, it’s room temperature, so that automatically vaults it to first place among the ales I’ve had this side of the pond.”

“Thank you! You know, I left England before I was old enough to drink with any regularity but still prefer warm. People look at me like I’m crazy for it.”

“They keep the cheap stuff ice cold so their tongues stay numb to the terrible taste.” Remus took another slow sip, this time letting it sit on his tongue, closing his eyes to savour the taste before he hummed happily and swallowed. “There’s lovely.” He opened his eyes to see Sirius looking at him strangely.

“Yeah,” Sirius agreed, voice sounding raspy. He cleared his throat. “Um, so you’re from North West Wales or thereabouts?”

“Bang on. I’m from a little village by the coast up in Snowdonia. And you’re from Kensington and Chelsea, or perhaps Mayfair.”

Sirius chuckled humourlessly, staring down at his glass as he ran an elegant finger around the rim of it. “I _like_ to say I’m from Connecticut, but even after seven years in the states, the accent always gives me away.”

“You’re still a regular Sloane Ranger, I’m afraid. Right shocked you’re not currently at Oxford face-fucking a pig carcass. Glad for it, of course, but still shocked.”

This succeeded in pulling Sirius out of his sudden sulk, and he let out a genuine laugh.

“It’s true! And did you get lost on the way to polo tryouts so you figured, ‘hmm, I’m built like a tree and I’m already here, may as well join the football team?’” 

“Oi! I was looking to try out for _rowing_ , I’ll have you know,” Sirius joked back. “But what I was meaning to ask was, how’d you end up at Hogwarts for uni?”

“My dad’s a professor here, and tuition is covered for all children of Hogwarts employees as long as they’re admitted on their own merit.” Remus made jazz hands. “I got in.”

“What does he teach? No, wait, let me guess.” Sirius tapped a finger against his chin and furrowed his brow in thought. “Classics,” he decided.

“Oh, have you had a course with him?”

Sirius looked chuffed. “I just figured off your name.”

“Yes, well. Are your parents astronomers then?”

Sirius scoffed. “No, they’re just self-important bell-ends. All my family’s named after stars and constellations and the like.” By the darkening of his face, Remus sensed he’d struck a nerve again.

Tugging his shirtsleeves down over his wrists, then clasping his hands together on the table, Remus apologized. “I’m sorry, Sirius.”

“Whatever for?” he asked, tilting his head like a confused puppy. “Hardly your fault _The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black_ has been adamant on theme naming their children for centuries. Could be worse, I went to pre prep school with a set of fraternal twins named Basil and Sage, and to this day I have no idea which one was the boy!”

Remus smiled weakly but still soldiered on. “It upsets you to talk about your family and upbringing. I’ll steer clear, forgive me.”

“Not at all, Remus,” Sirius murmured. He took a deep breath and visibly steeled himself. “Look, in my first month at Eton, I was caught with my pants down with another boy. Normally, such a thing would be written off as youthful experimentation, but the other boy was the son of a Fellow— that’s what they call the members of the board of governors— and so it churned into a quiet scandal. To save their own reputation, and to ensure my brother’s place at the school when it came time for him to attend, they withdrew me from the school and shipped me off to my Uncle Alphard in Greenwich— Connecticut, not the Greenwich in London.”

“And did your uncle… is he a decent fellow? Did he treat you kindly?”

“First thing he did when I came through the airport, Uncle Alphard slapped me upside the head for my lack of discretion. And then he introduced me to his boyfriend. It’s not always been smooth sailing, and it’s never been perfect, but I’m so much better off now that I’m summarily shunned.”

“You say it like that makes it acceptable that they shunned you. You know that all’s well that ends well doesn’t make what they did okay, right?”

“Of course not,” Sirius acquiesced. “But you must understand that with a childhood like my own, it didn’t feel like being disowned. It felt like being _freed_. They’re the worst kind of selfish, old Walburga and Orion, and certainly, in their mind, they were punishing me. But I’ve come to terms with it, and the reality is, they did me a favour. I would have died, living the rest of my life in the shackles of existence as their heir. They would have turned my soul into that shrivelled husk we joked about, trying to make me a proper little lord.” Sirius covered Remus’ hands with his own, ran his thumbs over the joints of Remus’ thumbs in soothing circles. “I’m happy, and they never will be.”

“They don’t deserve happiness, nor do they deserve to have you as a son.”

The thumbs stilled, and the hands squeezed. “You’re a rather good sort, Remus Lupin.”

“And you as well, Sirius Black.” Gently he pulled his hands back into his lap. “That’s quite enough childhood trauma for one night, don’t you think? I’m sure a place like this has a dartboard, what say you?”

“They have a full games room. But I would’ve taken you for more of a billiards man.”

“Oh, I am very much a billiards man, but I would absolutely _obliterate_ you at billiards. I offered darts so you could have a fighting chance.”

“Billiards it is, then,” Sirius declared. Literally rising to the challenge, he stood and picked up his beer mug and the bowl of crisps. “I’m kicking your arse, Lupin. I’ll have you sobbing into your bowl of stew.”

“We’re having stew, now?” Remus asked, standing and grabbing his own glass.

“Of course we’re having stew! We’re having delicious, hearty stew with the very crustiest of bread and then the loser buys pudding of the winner’s choice. Which is to say, you’ll be buying me a lemon posset.”

“Oh, it’s on, Black! Hope the taste of defeat won’t make the sticky toffee pudding sit too heavy on your tongue.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I appreciate all comments!


End file.
